A slight tapping attracted my attention, and looking round I saw standing in the doorway a tall, gaunt man with a beard so red as to shoot out the suggestion that it had been put on hot and that sufficient time had not elapsed for it to cool. I invited him in; and, stepping forward, he handed me a card on which in black type and with heavy impression was printed the name Lucian C. Petticord, followed by the information (also heavy and black) that I was in the presence of the Editor of the Bolanyo Daily Times, and the enemy of Senator Giles Talcom.
"Sit down, Mr. Petticord. Glad to meet you," I added, with lie number one.
"Thank you," he said, seating himself. "Match about you?"
I found a match for him, and lighting the stub of a cigar, he said "Thanks," crossed his legs and hooked his thumbs in the arm-holes of his "vest."
"How do you like our town?" he asked.
"Charming place," I answered.
"Used to be, but hard times hit it a crack and it's been staggering ever since. Had two banks—one of them failed. Tough, I tell you, but we'll come out all right. Just heard of your deal. Ought to make the thing pay, I should think. Got to spend some little money, of course. By the way, is old man Talcom interested in it?"
"Well, only as a friend," I answered, with lie number two.
"I heard he was. Always was a sort of a theatrical fellow."
"He is a gentleman, if that's what you mean."